


You Confuse Me Out Of My Head

by Naemi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angsty thoughts, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Prompt Fic, Romance, Sexual Confusion, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 03:04:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naemi/pseuds/Naemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's nothing wrong with guys dating guys. But—Scott? That's a lot like wanting to hump your own brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Confuse Me Out Of My Head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GstarRoss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GstarRoss/gifts).



> [set post season 3a]

 

[Monday.]

Scott's trying hard to be discreet. Isaac can tell by the way he breathes too slowly, almost in control. But of course, the pheromones waft all through the house, so there's that. Sneaky bastards.

Rolling onto his stomach, Isaac pulls his pillow over his head as if it could stop the smell from tickling his nose; it doesn't even block out the not-sounds coming from next door. He's hard, but like hell it has anything to do with Scott. Like hell listening to his Alpha jacking off affects him in any way. It never has before, back in Derek's loft, so it's just . . . Allison. Yes. Her scent still lingers even after several months, and she probably snuck into Isaac's dreams again. Must have. It makes sense; he's going to ask her out. Today. So that's totally it.

Isaac rubs his hips into the mattress, only a bit, only because he's trying to get more comfortable ( _yeah, right, whatever_ ), but there's not much use in pretending at this point. Not with the way Scott's heartbeat, faint but yet audible, speeds up, and his own starts chasing after it.

It's awkward. Isaac's gratefulness to have some place where he's welcome—truly welcome instead of being merely tolerated—starts to fade in moments like this. But since fate (or Derek throwing a glass at him, to call a spade) has deprived him of other options, he has to learn how to cope. Like, okay, Scott _is_ discreet, unlike Derek, and he also doesn't bring anyone home, telling him to leave so he can screw their English teacher on the couch, or the kitchen counter, or—

Scott's breath hitches before it transforms into the softest moan, stifled by his pillow or the blankets or maybe his bare arm. Isaac can't tell, and it doesn't matter; the heavy scent of cum fills the air, slowly invading his room and driving him crazy.

With a frustrated groan that he barely suppresses, he repositions himself just so he can grab his cock. They need to figure something out so they don't have to listen to each other anymore. Or smell it. Really. Evil. Like, join the clergy, maybe.

_Oh, for fuck's sake._

Melissa's alarm goes off. Isaac stills and holds his breath, as if she could hear him (not that Scott can't, but yeah). He listens to the pad of her bare feet. Shortly afterwards, Scott gets up, too; his footsteps are even lighter than hers. Under the acoustic cover of two simultaneously running showers, Isaac refocuses on his boner. It doesn't take him long to come, and he needs no further incentive but the smell that still hangs in the air.

When Isaac enters the kitchen, hair damp from his own hasty shower, he and Scott avoid looking at each other. So much for awkwardness.

Melissa rushes in to grab her car keys from the countertop, stopping short to give Isaac a concerned look. He flinches when she reaches for him. Although he knows she would never hit him—never hurt him in any way—the imprint of violence is too deep. Years of beating can't be erased by a few weeks of kindness.

“What?”

“I want to check if you have fever,” she says.

This time, he lets her touch his forehead. “I'm good.”

“Werewolves don't get colds, mom.”

“He's awfully pale, and I thought I heard him cough this morning, so excuse me if I take my parental role a little more seriously than you boys think I should.”

Isaac's jaw tightens with the effort to keep his face from flushing. “Just another nightmare. But I'm good.” The explanation spares him any further questions. He doesn't like lying to Melissa, but telling her what she actually heard isn't much of an option. Besides, it's not a big lie, so maybe it doesn't add to his karma bank.

A minute later, the boys are alone. The front door closes with a quiet thud and silence spreads between them, broken only by the shuffle of Isaac's feet as he moves to the coffee maker. He doesn't have a particular desire for breakfast, but caffeine sounds about right.

“So,” Scott says, “today's the day?”

“Guess so.”

“Nervous?”

“Like fuck.”

Scott nods in understanding. “You're gonna be fine. As long as you don't spill soda over her favorite shirt. She doesn't like that very much, let me tell you.”

“Oh, you didn't!”

“I might have.”

~ ~ ~

Isaac has thought himself to be confident enough not to stumble over his words. In the worst case, he imagined he might rush a little, but reality is a tad more catastrophic than that.

“WouldyougotoHomecomingwithme?” comes out as one slurred word, and only at his second attempt.

Allison is as adorable as always, but the way her features morph into a frown knots his stomach. She stares at him, lips parted slightly.

He shifts from one foot to the other, willing his eyes to focus. Waiting always makes him uncomfortable, and in this case it takes all his fading willpower not to shake a reply out of her. Any reply. It doesn't matter. But she remains silent, and Isaac does, too, wondering if they were maybe sucked into a crack in the space-time continuum and are now condemned to stare at each other forever. Just when he is about to repeat his question, hopefully with a little more eloquence, Allison sighs and lowers her gaze.

“What does Scott think about this?”

Isaac's mouth reacts before his mind. “Scott? What, do you still, like, like him?”

“No,” she says, almost shaping it like a question. “Not like that, anyway. I just didn't expect this.”

“He's fine with it.”

“I don't know.” Allison glances up at him from underneath her silky lashes. “It don't think it's a good idea.”

“Why not? I mean—”

“I like you a lot, Isaac,” she says quickly, and although he doesn't mean to spy on her heartbeat, it helps to know she's telling the truth. “I really do. I just don't think—” she smiles, all dimples and honey eyes, “—that asking me to Homecoming is the right thing to do. For you and Scott.”

Isaac means to protest, but something about her statement makes him stumble to find an appropriate reply, and he ends up huffing out a breath.

“You don't have to hide, you know? It's a good thing,” she adds, which—

“What?”

Laughing softly, Allison gives him a friendly slap on the arm. The warmth radiating from her fingertips makes him want to pull her into a hug. Instead, he takes a step back, cracking a smirk.

“Yeah well. I don't even know.” And that's true. He has no idea what she's talking about.

~ ~ ~

The morning passes so quickly that Isaac feels like he's constantly lagging behind. Like a YouTube video in IE4, maybe.

Allison's words won't stop spinning in his head, but regardless of his effort, there's just no decrypting them. He considers asking Scott, assuming he can figure her out way easier, but when he enters the cafeteria, the pack is already gathered.

The group acknowledges Isaac's arrival rather casually, but Lydia not-so-subtly raises her eyebrows at him in a way that he translates to a reprimand. Great. So she knows already. Stupid to believe she wouldn't. Isaac slides into the empty chair next to Scott, ignoring Lydia the best he can, although she very much reminds him of a cougar ready to pounce. Part of him wants to sass that look off her face, but he isn't keen on drawing attention to himself. He rather melts into the background, pretending to listen to the ongoing conversation.

Nodding absent-mindedly to something Danny just said, he steals a few fries from Scott's plate. Since he gets away with it, he keeps stealing more until Scott puts the dish right in front of him and their hands brush together for the fraction of a heartbeat.

“You must be starving by now,” Scott says, smiling when Isaac shoots him a questioning look. “Since you've skipped breakfast and all.”

“Had a busy morning?” Lydia asks, crinkling her nose.

“Something like that.”

~ ~ ~

“I thought about it.”

Isaac doesn't look up from the mess in his locker; his algebra book is somewhere in there for sure. “About what?”

“Well, you asking me out, of course,” Allison says.

“Hm.”

A stream of students passes them by, and Allison lowers her voice into a conspiratorial whisper. “See, I really support you and Scott. It's none of my business, but still. You should know. And while I'd rather see you go to the dance together, I will be your date if . . . if that makes you feel more, like, comfortable? Or something.”

“Or something,” Isaac repeats stupidly. His eyes fix on her face against his will. It takes him a minute to realize what she just implied, but when it clicks in place with this morning's conversation, he almost chokes on his own heartbeat in his throat.

_No way. Oh please, no, she can't be serious._

“It's not like that. It's totally not like that!”

“Stop being ashamed of who you are, Isaac. It doesn't make you a different person.” Allison sounds and looks so understanding, so supportive of this fucked up idea that Isaac feels like throwing up. “But you don't really need me to tell you that, do you?”

Isaac's voice fails him. His chest tightens with the sudden and fierce wish to rewind and restart this day. Or maybe his whole life. Yeah. That would be effing nice.

~ ~ ~

Allison's perception of his and Scott's relationship won't let Isaac rest all afternoon, and by that evening, he is absolutely out of his mind. Pacing the floor like there's no tomorrow doesn't help shit, but he's afraid he might freak out if he stops. He's also vaguely afraid he'll wear a hole in the carpet, yet that seems the lesser evil. Every thirty seconds, he checks his phone. No messages. No nothing. He really, really needs Scott to tell him that he misunderstood Allison. Because—he's not gay, okay? Not that Isaac thinks something's wrong with that. He just is not, absolutely, totally—well, he might have bisexual tendencies, maybe, like, ugh—not.

The house is dark and empty. Melissa has a double shift and isn't bound to return any time soon. Scott—well, it remains unclear where he is because he doesn't text back. All he told Isaac after school was that he had to go _somewhere_ and would be home around dinner time; Isaac only refrained from dragging him along right-fucking-then because Stiles was standing there ( _of course_ ) and if Allison had a warped impression of their relationship, he might, too.

The beep of an incoming text message makes Isaac almost jump and throw his phone away on reflex.

_Unexpected delay, sorry. On my way now._

_Bring food,_ Isaac sends back.

_What do you want?_

Isaac can't say.

_Dude?_

He isn't hungry. He's only confused.

_I'm bringing porn if you don't talk to me._

Groaning, Isaac replies: _Perv._

_Fuck, lol. Pork. Pork, dude. Srs. I'm grabbing Chinese._

_Sure, whatever ;)_

_I *could* bring a movie tho?_

_YouPorn works for me, thanks._

_FAP_

Isaac bursts out laughing.

~ ~ ~

Despite his urge to talk about what happened today, Isaac doesn't say a single word when they settle in the living room. He doesn't know how to start, and he's afraid to sound foolish. Maybe he's overreacting a little bit.

Seven minutes into a bunch of girls bitching on the screen—Isaac is too focused on poking around in his sweet and sour pork to pay much attention—Scott stops the DVD.

“So?” Scott asks stupidly.

Isaac doesn't look up. “So?”

“Allison?”

“Well. You might have noticed that I'm not overflowing with joy.”

“I'm sorry, dude. That really sucks. Really, really does.”

Isaac snorts and opens the last take-out box to see if the Chow mein can tempt his appetite. “You know what else sucks, according to her?”

“What?”

“Me. Your cock.” That's not exactly what Isaac meant to say. He can't tell where the words came from, and they shock him more than Scott, who stares at him open-mouthed and wide-eyed, like a deer in the headlights.

“Dude . . . what? Are you serious?”

“Not her words. But yes.”

“That su-seems weird.” Scott frowns, scratching the back of his head. “What did she say when you told her that's nonsense?”

“I kind of may have not?” Isaac's lashes flutter as fast as his mouth spits out the words.

“Why the fuck not?”

A hint of claws pricks Isaac's fingertips. “I fucking freaked out, okay?”

“Did you just wolf at me, dude?”

Isaac grimaces, looking down. He doesn't even know; it's all just so weird. “I'm sorry,” he mumbles into his soda can. “I didn't . . . I'm sorry.”

Scott hums thoughtfully. “It's not that I'm not flattered by the idea of . . . like, you know . . . like that.” A tiny grin tugs at the corners of his lips. “But still. Put it right, okay?”

“Okay.” Isaac stretches his arms over his head until his back pops. He has nothing to add. Nothing that matters.

Melissa finds them asleep hours later, take-out boxes scattered around and the DVD player's logo drifting across the screen, bathing them in a soft, artificial glow.

She stands in the doorway watching them for a minute before turning off the TV and tiptoeing out of the room.

~ ~ ~

[Tuesday.]

Isaac wakes up with one arm loosely slung around Scott's waist and his head nuzzled dangerously close to the back of his head.

_Something is not right._

A glance at the digital numbers of the DVD player informs him they've got a couple more hours until they need to get ready for school. He should probably wake Scott, but he just can't bring himself to deal with the situation right now. Thus, he sneaks out of the room.

Isaac falls asleep again while straining his ears to pick up Scott's heartbeat.

~ ~ ~

If anyone looked close enough, they could indeed mistake Isaac and Scott for a gay couple. It never occurred to him that he and Scott behave differently than Scott and Stiles do when they're together. It is almost as if Isaac and Scott are bending the rules of bromance to fit their . . . Alpha/Beta dynamics, maybe. Although that's a satisfying explanation, it doesn't cover everything, like the small smiles they share, like their tendency to stand so close. Not even Stiles, as Isaac notices for the first time, ever stands between them.

Perhaps it's a natural assumption that Isaac and Scott are dating. There's nothing wrong with guys dating guys. But—Scott? That's a lot like wanting to hump your own brother.

Isaac skips Lunch Break With The Devil's Court. He considers skipping his afternoon classes as well, but that would mean also missing lacrosse practice, and he wants the exercise. Plus . . . lacrosse equals locker room equals shirtlessness equals sweating equals showering, and Isaac is absolutely horrified by the idea of stripping while Scott's in the same room. He will never in his life shower at school again.

Finding a sunlit spot by the bleachers, Isaac flops down and hunches his back, covering his face with his palms. His mind won't pause for a second, circling around _Scott and I_. He takes a deep breath. May as well start right outside the gates of purgatory.

Fact is, Isaac looks up to Scott, and he trusts him. Well. He's the Alpha. And, although Isaac might not say it out loud, a far better one than Derek ever was. Hands down.

Fact is, they spend pretty much all their spare time together, but then, hello, they _live_ together, so there's nothing he can do about it.

Fact is, Scott is the only real friend Isaac has ever had, and maybe he is just a tiny bit possessive, but there's nothing wrong with clinging to someone you—

“Here you are.”

Isaac's head snaps up; Allison is standing a few steps away.

“Scott said you didn't . . . You missed lunch.”

“So he sent you to make sure I'm not doing anything stupid?” Isaac bites out.

Allison smiles and shakes her head. “Do you want some company?”

Only yesterday, he would have bent over backward for more time alone with her. Today—not so sure. Yet, he nods in invitation.

Allison sits down beside him, hugging her knees to her chest. Her slow and steady heartbeat, loud in Isaac's ears, somehow manages to ease his own. She looks at him as he studies the patterns of washed-out shoe prints on the ground.

“Did you fight?”

“No.”

“Then what's wrong?”

Isaac shrugs. “I have to tell you something.” He meets her eyes. “Scott and I . . . it's . . . we're not . . .”

And when she squeezes his shoulder and mumbles, “It's gonna be okay,” he can't find the words to set her straight.

~ ~ ~

_Are you skipping school?_

_Dude. You better talk to me._

_Isaac!_

_SET IT RIGHT!_

_*alpha stare*_

~ ~ ~

Isaac takes a long run in the preserve to clear his head, and he feels quite at ease when he returns home. He may have fucked up today even more, but it can be sorted. It's not like he committed a crime. He just lied. Again. It gets easier the more often you do it.

The last thing Isaac expects when he opens the door is the sound of moaning. It's bad. Coming In Your Pants bad. Kind of irreversibly damaging your world, at least until you realize it's something that may happen and you learn to shrug it off and keep going.

Isaac retreats. As he maneuvers himself around the corner, _thisclose_ to success, Melissa's car pulls up in the driveway. He bumps into a small cupboard that holds something glass. Fabric rustles. Scott curses.

Lacking a better idea, Isaac literally lunges for the front door, scaring Melissa out of her skin as he throws it open.

“Jesus! Isaac! That's one way to kill somebody!”

“Hi,” is all he manages, drawing out the word. _Good job._ He gives her a bright smile of the kind that he's told is cute. “Hi,” he repeats, “you, um, are early, right?” It takes all of his willpower not to grimace at the idiocy leaving his mouth.

“Is that a valid reason for murder?”

“I don't believe so, no,” he says slowly.

Melissa shakes her head, pushing past him. Isaac has more nonsense on his tongue already, but as he spins around, Scott approaches from the stairs.

“Mom. Hi. Good to see you back.”

“Okay, what's going on, boys?”

“Nothing.”

“Did you burn something?”

“No.”

“Wreck something?”

“No.”

“Hurt someone?”

“No, mom!”

“Isaac?”

He snaps out of his stupor, courtesy of Scott's heavily musky scent. “No,” he says, hoping he hasn't missed a major part of the conversation. “Actually, we were . . . I was going to . . . get some, um . . . pickles.”

“Pickles?” If Melissa was suspicious before, the look on her face now borders on inquisitorial.

Isaac squares his shoulders, displays another smile, and nods firmly. “Pickles. I had a sudden desire. I can't help it. So, yeah, if you need something? I'm, like, going anyway . . . ” And he _is_ gone before the situation cracks him up too much. Even from the driveway, he can still hear Melissa say, “Thank god he isn't a girl, or else I'd have to freak out.”

Isaac makes sure not to return before the house is quiet. He's armed with an assortment of pickles, just in case. He slides into the darkness of the McCall home and flinches when he's dragged to the kitchen and pushed down on a chair.

“Pickles?” Scott hisses. “Really? Pickles is all you could think of?”

“What's wrong with pickles? They're delicious, you know.” Isaac lifts his bag, and the jars clink together.

“You're missing the point.”

“What _is_ the point?”

“Do you have any idea what those damned things did? Dude. It took me an hour to convince her that male werewolves can't get pregnant. Like, really, _really_ not. No way. Not ever.”

“Did she believe you?”

Scott leans back against the counter, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I hope so. For your sake.”

“I'm glad my health is such a high concern.”

“I'd also like to know why Allison thinks I broke up with you, considering we're not even dating.”

“Can I use the Phone-A-Friend lifeline?”

“Isaac!”

“I . . . I'm sorry?”

“Set it right.”

Scott's eyes are dark and serious, and Isaac knows he has almost overstepped the mark. “I will. I promise, I will.”

“Good. Besides, I'd never break up with you just because you 'wanted to wait.' I'm a gentleman, dude.”

~ ~ ~

[Wednesday.]

“So . . . ” Stiles says, and Isaac knows that this conversation between Stiles and Scott will take him somewhere he doesn't want to be. Still, he can't stop himself from listening; something about how Stiles' eyes dart at him from across the locker room tells him he's going to be involved one way or the other.

“. . . are you going to Homecoming?”

Scott shrugs. “I don't think so.”

“No interest?”

“No date.”

“How come? I mean, it's not like you had no options, right?” Stiles' gaze flickers to Isaac once more. “You could ask someone you really, _really_ like, right? I heard that's what people do. Unless they totally fucked up, of course, in which case it might be a problem. To ask for another chance—date. I mean date.”

“Stiles? Did Allison talk to you?”

“What do you mean, 'talk?' Sure, we talk. We're friends, right? That's what friends do. They talk. Like you and I, or, say, Isaac and you—you should talk more, Scott. It's awesome. And helpful. You can't imagine how helpful it is just to talk about . . . stuff. Sort it out, you know. Fix it.”

Scott crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Isaac, how about you stop eavesdropping and explain why you and I don't need to fix anything?”

Heaving a sigh, Isaac trudges over.

“Tell him.”

“We're not dating.”

“I know!” Stiles says. “I can't believe it. I don't know how Scott could—okay, it's none of my business, but how could you not tell me? And why would you dump him? The Scott I know—”

“It was just a misunderstanding, Stiles,” Isaac says firmly.

“Oh. Okay. Yeah, I'm sure it was. I'm sure he didn't mean to be a dick. Right?” Stiles pokes Scott in the side.

“Should I write it down for you? Print it out and glue it to your forehead? Isaac and I never dated; therefore, I didn't dump him, and therefore, this conversation is over.” Scott slams his locker shut before adding, “Set it the hell right, Isaac. I'm not gonna tell you again. I'm tired of people making assumptions.”

“Whoa,” Stiles says when Scott is out of sight, and hopefully out of earshot, too. “Something about this really upsets him.”

“Yeah. The fact that I can't keep my mouth shut.”

“Or maybe that you can?”

Isaac frowns. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just, maybe the two of you should have a little chat about . . . Dude, don't growl at me. That's so not intimidating.”

~ ~ ~

When Scott comes home, he smells of antiseptic and sickness, and his tired eyes show that he's had a rough shift at Deaton's tonight. He flops on the floor in front of the couch, where Isaac sits bent over his biology book.

“Did you talk to Allison?” Scott asks point-blank.

Isaac puts his book aside before he speaks. “I did. It was embarrassing and awkward, and I wanted to kill myself, but I told her the truth. And she said only Stiles knows. Naturally, she was upset I lied to her, and she's definitely not going to Homecoming with me because of that . . . At least, I guess that's why. Story of my life.”

“Good. That you told her. Sorry about the rest.”

“I'll live.” Isaac waits for Scott to say more, but he doesn't. Instead, he turns on the TV, zapping through the channels until he decides on an episode of Modern Family.

“Huh. I thought you don't like the show.”

“Maybe I've changed my mind about what I like.”

Isaac snorts. “How was your day?” he asks when the first commercial comes up.

“Long,” Scott says monosyllabically.

“Are you okay?”

“Let's go to In-N-Out.”

Isaac's heartbeat jumps. “You're so random,” he says, but he isn't complaining. It feels like a peace offering after the locker room conversation.

Scott cracks a contagious grin. “Come on. Let's hang out at a burger place like the cool California kids do.”

“Sounds like a must-do.”

In-N-Out is only about five minutes away. The boys don't talk. They walk so close that their arms brush together, and by the time the familiar yellow and red sign comes into view, they're both at ease, as if the contact did all the talking necessary to forgive and forget. When Isaac offers to buy, Scott sternly insists he go and get a table instead. Not that Scott being stern means anything, nor is he very good at it.

Isaac tilts his head to the side and narrows his eyes. “Can I have extra pickles?”

Scott smirks. “Is there something about your _health_ that I should know?”

“The only thing you need to know is that you are _not_ the father,” Isaac says and, laughing at Scott's shocked face, he retreats inside and to the farthest away table he can find. Still snickering to himself, he casts a glance back, but a group of kids blocks his view. When they're gone, Scott is in line.

Good-humored, Isaac fiddles with his sleeve as he waits. Every now and again, his eyes dart back to check on the progress of their food. He sighs, looks out of the window, then back in Scott's direction. A petite blonde a few tables away from him draws his attention. She's cute, not exactly his type, but she smiles, and so he smiles back; a little flirt doesn't hurt, after all. Her friend says something, and as the girl talks to her, Isaac searches for Scott once more, happy to see him approach with a tray full of deliciously unhealthy food.

The boys goof around a bit while they eat, but Isaac is a little distracted by the blonde. He tries not to look at her every ten seconds or so—he really does—but his eyes don't seem to support this plan.

“She's hot, dude,” Scott says between bites.

“Not my type.”

“Then why do you keep staring at her?”

“I'm not—am I staring?”

“No,” Scott laughs, drawing out the word. “Not at all. Go ask for her number.”

Isaac blushes and looks down. “No, I don't think so.”

“Seriously? Do you need me to do it?”

“Hush. Be a good Alpha,” Isaac laughs, but five minutes later, the friend walks over to them, and his heartbeat picks up immediately.

“Hey,” she smiles, holding out a scrap of a napkin. “Her name is Elena, and she'd love you to call her.”

Isaac's voice fails him, so Scott takes over. “He will,” he says, taking the piece of paper. “I'll make sure of it.”

The girl winks. “Always nice to have good wingmen.”

“True.”

She leaves, and soon after, the boys head out as well. Scott teases Isaac about his lack of confidence all the way home, but it's okay. Life should always be like this.

Isaac doesn't realize that Scott never gives him the number.

~ ~ ~

[Thursday.]

Isaac suspects that he's dreaming when Elena straddles him and guides his hand underneath her shirt in the middle of the café, but he surely isn't complaining. She's warm and firm and she smells so nice, and he's just a teenager, so it's okay. They kiss, but when they part to catch a breath, she's gone, and Isaac finds himself at home—with Scott. That's when he desperately wants to wake up. He doesn't, though. Instead, he watches Scott take off his shirt, watches his own fingers trail up Scott’s chest and caress a nipple. Scott moans softly and pulls him in for another kiss that's disturbingly awesome. The next moment, all clothes have miraculously vanished and Scott is on his knees, licking his lips before closing them around the tip of—

Isaac wakes, confused as hell, but also achingly hard. His cock doesn't care that the images to which it responded are utterly wrong, and his hand, the traitor, is equally indifferent to the reluctance of his mind. He jacks off hard and fast, almost angrily, as if the way he takes care of it could negate the fact that Scott has suddenly become wanking material, but there's no fighting it. He sees him. He feels him.

Little moans catch in Isaac's throat, each of them a pinprick of desperation, and when he comes, Scott's name almost leaves his lips.

_I'm so fucked._

~ ~ ~

School is hell. Isaac can hardly control his anxiety, and he knows Scott knows, even without him asking what's wrong. “I'm good,” Isaac says, but he flinches away from Scott's touch and behaves so strangely that by lunchtime, the pack has no other subject of discussion.

Isaac's in line for some food he doesn't want when he overhears Lydia saying, “He doesn't look good today.”

Stiles asks, “Since when do you care?” and her answer is drowned in some other guy’s loud laughter, but then Allison says, “You should talk to him, Scott.”

“I don't think so. Not today.”

Everything inside Isaac screams with frustration. _Fucking talk to me,_ he thinks, although he can't explain what's going on. He isn't even sure something is going on at all.

“You really messed up dude,” Stiles says, and Isaac just knows that Scott is giving him a death glare. He doesn't want to join them. He doesn't want any of this. Maybe he should skip his afternoon classes again, go home, pack his bag and leave. Not just the McCall house, but his whole life. Just leave it all behind. He can get quite far on foot, and when he's tired, he'll hitch-hike. It's easy. Without any next of kin left, there's no destination. No one would know where to look for him. No one would ever find him.

“Fries or tater tots?” the cafeteria lady barks at him, startling him out of his thoughts.

“Tater tots,” he says absent-mindedly. When he looks over his shoulder, his friends are still in conversation. If he left right now, no one would notice. But then, Scott looks up, and he smiles, and Isaac's heart clenches. With his tray full of disgusting food, he shuffles over to their table. He isn't running away. Not anymore. He has a pack now, a family, and even if he may have an issue to sort, he can do it. As soon as he knows how to put it in words. Scott won't judge him.

_Please don't judge me._

The conversation dies as soon as Isaac slides into his usual chair, but however much he wants to growl, he manages a tight smile. “I'm fine, okay? Thanks for your concern, but stop it. It's unnecessary.” His voice is level, but his heartbeat gives the lie to the wolves; they let him have it.

“Anyway,” Danny says after a pause, “I was wondering if I could talk some of you into helping out at the concert tonight? A couple of guys bailed out and we could really need someone for a few hours. Just easy stuff. And you get to see the band for free.”

“Is it that PFLAG event you were talking about?” Lydia asks, and when Danny nods she narrows her eyes. “Bummer. I already have plans.”

“I bet you do,” Ethan says darkly.

“Oh, shut up. I'm not going to help out at some weird rock concert just to showcase that I'm not narrow-minded.”

“Scott and I can help,” Isaac says before he even realizes, and then hurries to correct himself: “I mean, I can help. I'll come.”

The tension is tangible, and it's just Scott looking at him like he has lost his mind. It seems the rest of the group hold their breaths; they're definitely avoiding eye contact. Isaac wonders if they all know the story of him and Scott dating slash not dating slash breaking up, and if so, who told. He guesses that it could have been Stiles, but maybe that's unfair. Maybe no one had to tell. Or maybe he's being very paranoid.

“What?” Isaac bites out when the silence lasts. “You don't want me to help? That's okay. I can do a million other things.”

“No. No, it's great. Thanks,” Danny says a little too softly, and Isaac wants to yell at him that he's not fucking gay and he's not fucking in love with Scott, but he only casts down his eyes and mumbles something unintelligible.

“When do you need us?”

Isaac's head snaps up; Scott doesn't look at him. “You're going?”

“Sure. I like the band.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“Be there at eight?”

“We will.”

Danny grins knowingly, and Isaac wants to cry.

~ ~ ~

The event is cool. The band's an “in” band, the place is full to bursting, and everyone is enjoying himself. Danny ushers Scott and Isaac to help at the bar as soon as they arrive, and it turns out that Isaac has a knack for mixing cocktails.

It's strange at first, mainly because what stands between them is yet unresolved, untouched even; Isaac avoided Scott all afternoon, and they were unusually quiet on their way to the youth center. But a mere half hour into working together, they're perfectly at ease, which, in the light of the clientele being mostly gay, seems a little cynical to Isaac. Interestingly, it isn't awkward at all. He fully expected to freak out—with or without Scott—and question his own sexuality even more than he already does, but there isn't one moment in which he feels out of place, nervous or embarrassed. At least not until an admittedly cute guy asks for his phone number, which he does not want to give out. The guy gets a little grumpy, and Isaac can smell the alcohol on his breath. It's hard to reason with someone who's drunk, but Isaac tries nonetheless, displaying a bright smile and summoning all the manners he can. He doesn't want a scene just because some guy wants into his pants (although that's kind of flattering), but it seems that's were the conversation is heading.

“Hey. What's up?” Scott appears beside Isaac, one hand on his shoulder.

“Nothing. We're just talking.”

“Good. You know I get jealous easily.”

“Wait,” the guy says, “he's your boyfriend?”

“The one and only,” Isaac replies quickly, and that, of course, is not helping his personal situation, but luckily Scott plays along.

“Isn't he cute?” He gives Isaac such a fond look that for a heartbeat, it makes him forget they're pretending. The guy buys it; he snorts and then disappears in the crowd.

“Huh. Cute?”

“You know you are,” Scott says in a low voice, but when Isaac hazards a glance, he's grinning, and that's as disappointing as it is relieving.

“I guess so,” Isaac says as smugly as he can, despite the emotions bubbling up in his chest. He feels a little nauseous, can hardly breathe with the thought of _He thinks I'm cute_ hammering in his head.

Spying on Scott's heartbeat doesn't help. It's calm and doesn't answer any of Isaac's questions.

_I'm so fucking fucked._

~ ~ ~

[Friday.]

The Beacon Hills/Mystic Falls lacrosse rivalry is as old as the sports itself, it seems, and it enters the field as a third team. The gameplay is harder and faster than normal, and ever since some of the Cyclones 'miraculously' turned out to be fantastic players, the Timberwolves counteracted with foul mouths and foul play (“Because they suck,” as Stiles puts it). Accordingly, these matches more closely resemble a war than high school sports.

The first 'encounter' occurs only three minutes in, but it leaves Isaac wondering if he's been sucked into Wonderland or something. Stiles gets checked hard, and the force hurls him into Isaac, but at least they manage not to stumble over each other (or Isaac manages to keep them both on their feet, that is). “Careful, _sweetheart_ ,” the attacker says, and Stiles bites out, “Thanks for your concern, _love_ ,” but the guy is off already, and Isaac chases after him. He doesn't get far without someone else elbowing him, and that's about when the game seriously starts to go downhill.

The clock reads 4:24 when the first penalty is given. Finstock yells at the top of his lungs from this point until the end of the first quarter, but no one's listening.

“Dude,” Scott says when the team gathers, “is it me or is everyone hearing a lot of weird shit today?”

Stiles nods. “It's like National Make Stupid Gay Jokes Day.”

“I wonder why, though.”

“Apparently,” Danny says, “some of us have been spotted doing gay things at gay locations recently. At least, that's what I heard.”

“That rings a bell,” Isaac grunts. “Not.”

“I've had someone ask me, and I quote, 'Where do you put your lacrosse sticks after practice?'”

“They're dead,” Ethan says darkly, and Scott pushes at his chest to stop him from storming off.

“Don't,” he says. “Don't do anything stupid.”

Ethan glowers at him, but then he relaxes slightly and gives a subtle nod.

The game proceeds in this fashion, and Isaac takes his irritation out to the field. He, too, received a couple of insults ranging from stupid to nasty. It's not the first time that homophobia has been used as a device for psychological warfare, but the timing of _this_ is just utterly wrong. It kind of hits home, and Isaac has had his share of hatred about who he is, _thanks, Dad._ It hurts, and he's tired of hurting, tired of all of this negativity in his life. Every snide remark raises his sass-level, and for every time he's elbowed or checked, he counterattacks with twice the force.

When Scott is close, he growls at Isaac, but it's not so much a reprimand as a reminder not to lose it. Isaac nods in understanding, but then a hard and unexpected tackle actually takes him down. As he looks up, his attacker spits out, “Cocksucker,” and something in Isaac snaps.

“Your dad didn't seem to care last night,” he growls, and the next moment he's back on his feet and plows over the six-foot giant with more supernatural strength than absolutely necessary; the guy stays down and needs to be carried off the field.

“This isn't freaking football, Lahey.” Coach's voice almost cracks, and his pulse is so high that Isaac fears for his health. “If your goal was to give me a heart attack, congrats, you succeeded. Now get your ass—”

Isaac tunes him out. He returns to the bench, not feeling guilty at all. Quite the opposite: he's stoked.

Danny, who's been taken out due to an injury, raises his eyebrows when Isaac sits down beside him, grinning broadly.

“What happened?” he asks.

Isaac shrugs. “He called me a cocksucker.”

In the end, the Cyclones win. Again.

“We turned those Timberwolves into fucking puppies,” Stiles cheers as he flings his towel over his shoulder and heads for the showers. “They got what they deserved.”

“You're lucky we had your back out there,” Ethan says.

“I will admit that I have awesome teammates.”

“It was absurd, though,” Scott shouts over the sound of running water. “What's _wrong_ with people?”

Isaac fishes his own towel out of the depths of his duffel bag and follows his teammates. Half of the room is filled with steam already, for which he's grateful. He may have taken a million showers after lacrosse before, but there's this new little voice in his head that keeps whispering, _Scott, dude. Scott_ , in turns with _I'm not gay_. It's somewhat awkward when Isaac can't stop his gaze from flickering to the Alpha. Although he only spots a soapy silhouette, his mind is quick to think, _He's flawless_. He turns away and retreats to the far corner; he would have fled the showers altogether, but that's beyond silly, so he suppresses his urges.

The heat of the match slowly wears off, but Isaac can't relax. He can't shake off the feeling that the others eye him suspiciously, although that's ridiculous.

Scott, Stiles and Isaac have arranged to meet with the girls after the game, but with all that happened, Isaac makes up an excuse to leave. He really needs some time alone.

~ ~ ~

Isaac is stretched out on his bed with his MP3 player blaring way too loudly for his keen ears. He's aching enough, but this is a different kind of pain, one that helps him to forget. Hopefully.

He doesn't see the first text, and when he takes notice, there are several, all from Scott.

_Are you at home?_

_Hey, are you mad at me?_

_Okay, cool. Because I may have done something very stupid. So you're totally entitled to being mad._

_Even if you didn’t know._

_Has anyone texted you? Or called you?_

_Isaac?_

Sighing, Isaac writes back, _Sorry, didn't see your texts. I'm not mad. Why? What did you do?_

“I may have screwed up.” Scott's sudden appearance in the door startles Isaac so much that he almost falls off the bed.

“Fuck,” Isaac breathes, his heart pounding. He takes out his earphones and tosses the player aside. “Since when do you sneak up on me?”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you.”

“You must have heard the music,” Isaac says grumpily.

“I did. I'm sorry.”

They look at each other, Isaac very flustered, and Scott biting his lower lip.

“I may have screwed up,” Scott repeats after a minute. He walks over to Isaac and sits down beside him. “Promise me you won't hate me.”

“What did you do?”

“I may have been tempted to say that . . . like . . . what you said.”

“What did I say?”

“Like when you did not say that we're not dating? I did that. Only reversed.”

“You—” Isaac frowns, and when the realization hits him, his face morphs into an expression of utter shock. “You said that we _are_ dating?”

“I might have said . . . something like that.”

“Scott?”

Biting his lower lip again, Scott draws a deep breath through his nose before he explains. “You remember that girl from In-N-Out? Elena? I still had her number in my pocket. Stiles found it and when I said it's for you he asked why I still have it and . . . He was like, 'Oh, you don't want them to date?' and I was like, 'Ugh, not that again,' and he . . . You know how he is. He totally thinks I still got a candle burning for you. I mean—he really believes . . . you know. It was just . . . I freaked out, okay? He implied a _lot_ of things, and I freaked out, and I kind of said I'll fix it. Or something. Actually, I said we're coming to his party together. I mean . . . yeah. He said it. I—I don't even know.”

Isaac's hope for the mattress to absorb him is in vain. His fingers twiddle with a loose thread on his sheet. He listens, he really does, yet what he hears is so beyond surreal that his mind can hardly parse the words.

“Go to Stiles' party together?” he says stupidly when he realizes Scott has nothing to add.

“Yeah, well. I mean, we would have gone together anyway, right? It would be only a slight adjustment for us. Like, we're pretty much inseparable anyway.”

Isaac wonders whether Scott actually wants it or if he's just unwilling to take back his words—and should werewolves be able to have migraines? He doesn't think so, but his head's got its own perception of 'possible.'

“But . . . why?”

“Because . . . I don't know. Why not?”

“Ugh. I guess we're even now.”

“Don't hate me.”

“Oh, for fuck's sake,” Isaac huffs.

“Is that a yes?”

“Or something.”

“Awesome.” Scott nods, smiling. “Um . . . maybe we should practice? What do you think?”

“Practice what?” Isaac narrows his eyes, but when Scott subconsciously licks his lips, he utters a soft sound of understanding. All of a sudden, his heartbeat could outrace a Ferrari. His hands move from fiddling with the thread to tug at the hem of Scott's shirt, and _Oh my God, oh my God, this isn't real . . ._ “Good point.” His fingers twitch as if to slide underneath the fabric, and before they can act out on that impulse, Isaac leans in, and so does Scott. The shy touch of lips is barely worth to be called a kiss, but frankly?

It's pretty fucking awesome.

So, okay. Maybe Isaac does have a crush on Scott. No big deal. Just keep kissing him.

Ten minutes later, they're out of breath, goofing around more than anything else. At some point, and without much reason, an almost-pillow-fight-tickle-and-banter-war occurs, and although kissing was somewhat more interesting, this, at least, is easy. It's normal.

Isaac lies flat on his back, hair ruffled, eyes bright, pushing at Scott's chest with one hand (“I surrender!”) and yet nudging him closer with the other curled around the back of his neck. When they kiss again, it's far less hesitant than before.

Scott murmurs, “We shouldn't practice too much.” He cracks one of his goofy smiles. “Might get used to it.”

Isaac rolls his eyes dramatically. “Yeah, that would be horrible,” he says, aware of the heat in his face and the slowly growing evidence for his enjoyment that lurks beneath the waistband of his pants. He wants to add more, but Scott steals the words right from him.

Surprised, Isaac gasps into the kiss, and Scott takes advantage of it, licks into Isaac's mouth and—

“Boys? I'm home.”

Scott makes a little disappointed sound and withdraws; Isaac arches up, reluctant to let him go.

“Boys?”

Way to be persistent. Scott sits back up. There's an intriguingly beautiful pattern of nothing at the ceiling on which Isaac decides to focus.

“Sorry,” Scott whispers, and then he's gone.

Life officially sucks.

~ ~ ~

[Saturday.]

Isaac is awake but still in bed when he gets a a text message from an unknown number.

_My place. Ten minutes. No excuses. Get your ass in gear._

He can't quite decide what to do with this. As his finger hovers over the delete icon, another message pops up—

_Okay, that sounded entirely wrong. Forget the last part._

—and another one right afterwards, this time from Allison:

_Don't listen to her, Honey._

He means to send, _wtf?_ to Allison and _Who are you?_ to the person he now assumes must be Lydia, but Murphy is a butt plug, and so he transposes the texts.

_Wow, manners? We're going to buy you an outfight for the party tonight. God knows you need it._

So it is Lydia. Isaac is reluctant to deal with her right now, and settles to answer to Allison's _Isaac? Check the number,_ instead, but a flood of messages starts coming in from both of them, and he gives up on replying at all.

_No offense, though. You're cute, I'll admit that much._

_Whatever she wants, don't say yes._

_Clarification: your style is okay._

_Anyway. Ten minutes._

_Stop pushing him already._

_Ugh, sorry. Haha. My bad._

_NO EXCUSES, LAHEY._

_Don't go, it's a trap!_

_Well, not a trap, of course. But you definitely don't want to go shopping with her._

_How is he supposed to get laid when he isn't dressed up for the occasion?_

_That last one *obviously* wasn't meant for you. Don't read other people's texts, Lahey. Are you here yet?_

_You will get laid of course! Don't worry, Babe!_

_And don't let anyone push you! *no one* okay?!_

Groaning, Isaac shuts off his phone.

~ ~ ~

There's no escaping Lydia. Isaac should have known. Since he refused to go shopping with her, she brings the shopping to him. She arrives at five, Allison in tow, carrying several bags.

“You. Upstairs,” Lydia says, pointing at Isaac and then over her shoulder.

Isaac shakes his head. “I really don't—”

“Yes, you do.” She looks at him sternly, and unlike Scott, she's damned good at it.

Allison gives him an apologetic look as his shoulders sag and he huffs out a breath. Scott isn't much help, either; he just grins and shrugs.

Defeated, Isaac lets Lydia usher him upstairs. In his room, she drops the bags on the floor and skims through them for a pair of jeans that she throws at him.

“You can start with those.”

He simply stares at her.

“Hurry, we don't have all day.”

“Do you want me to change in front of you?”

“I have seen more guys in boxers than you can imagine. I promise, I won't look too closely. Now, pants off.”

“No need to snap at me.”

Unsurprisingly, Lydia's taste is amazing, but surprisingly, each and every piece of clothing fits Isaac perfectly. When he says so, she looks at him as if he's a silly child. “What did you expect?”

Twenty-something outfits and a lot of eye-rolling later, Lydia decides Isaac is good to go. He's wearing a dark blue, tailored shirt (“It accentuates your eyes.”) and tight, stone-washed jeans (“They make a really nice butt.”), and he has to admit he looks sharp. Somewhat . . . elegant. When he sees the price tag on the shirt, however, he grimaces.

“I can't afford this, Lydia.”

“Consider it my loss-of-virginity gift.”

“Ugh. That's . . . not my intention.”

“It's not?” Lydia cuts off the tags. “Well, the outfit might make it Scott's intention. Now, what can we do about your hair?”

He sighs. Arguing with Lydia doesn't go well, it seems. Maybe it's not worth the fight.

It is, however, worth the effort. The new look elicits a bright smile from Scott and a half-whispered, “Sexy.” Isaac blushes slightly. He couldn't have hoped for any better reaction, even if it's only a show for the girls.

~ ~ ~

The birthday party is actually a small get-together. Much to Isaac's surprise, he and Scott get no more special attention other than some knowing smiles and a few goofy grins (Stiles tops his with two thumbs up). It isn't awkward, and they don't behave much differently than usual, except for holding hands, which is really . . . nice.

Isaac is vibrating with positive energy. It feels good to 'belong' to Scott, even if they're only pretending. In a werewolf-way, it's true, though. And if last night's kisses are anything to go by, there is a slight chance that this may lead somewhere. (Isaac tries hard not to think, _into each others' pants_ , because that would only make him fidgety.)

After the excitement of unwrapping gifts is over, they discuss whether a game of truth or dare is a regular feature of birthday parties. It is, because Stiles says so and the birthday boy is always right. Or something. They play a few rounds, everyone reluctantly but Stiles and Danny, and luckily, no compromising situations occur. When it's Scott's turn, he picks dare and of course Stiles decides he must, “Kiss Isaac.”

“How creative,” Scott says, rolling his eyes.

Stiles shrugs. “I want it, you do it.”

“Like always.”

Isaac thinks it's going to be chaste and quick, but he forgot the occasional hints of mischief that overcome Scott in the weirdest moments. The hand in his hair doesn't surprise him much—that was part of the practice session—but the one sneaking underneath his shirt to rest on his hips catches him off-guard. He opens his mouth to say something sassy, but instead, a little purr comes over his lips. He blushes. Allison squeaks. Scott angles up and kisses him softly for about ten seconds or so before he decides to push Isaac backwards until he's lying flat on his back. He straddles him ( _uh oh!_ ), kisses him again, and okay, they've practiced that, too, yet it's a lot different with audience.

Isaac thinks his mouth is too dry and his palms too sweaty to do any of this, but that can't be; his hands don't stick to the back of Scott's neck and shirt, and the kiss is just perfect. It lasts long enough for the whole room to fall absolutely silent, and then a little longer.

When they part, Lydia clears her throat. “Yeah, we got it, you are _so_ in love,” she says. “Get a room.”

Isaac retreats to the front porch shortly afterwards. It's a mild evening with a clear sky that's perfect for stargazing. He hasn't wished upon a star since he was very little because it's silly, but tonight, he might. Tonight, he doesn't feel like his usual, broken or frightened self. He only knows freedom when he's shifted, but this is a different kind, peaceful and calm, and Isaac desperately wants to protect this emotional state, wants to stay in it forever.

The door opens, and laughter wafts out, along with the familiar smell of hickory and moss that is the natural composition of Scott's scent. Isaac smiles.

“What are you looking for?” Scott asks, standing beside him. He inhales deeply, and it's probably not true, but Isaac thinks he may be scenting him as well. It's a happy thought.

“Nothing in particular. Just . . . looking.”

“I didn't mean the stars.” Scott nudges Isaac to face him. “But neither did you. Right?”

All Isaac manages is a tiny nod. They're too close— _almost boner-popping close_ —for him to think straight, too close not to drown in Scott's chocolate eyes, and he sure as hell is going to outright start whimpering if Scott doesn't kiss him.

Their heartbeats chase after one another, but the rest of the world seems to be in slow motion. Scott's lips curl into a grin. He touches Isaac's cheek, trails his thumb up Isaac's jawline, and then his hand slides around Isaac's neck to pull him closer. They pause, only inches apart. Isaac's breath hitches with dire need and the fear of rejection; Scott holds his breath. And when they kiss, it's as gentle and sweet as can be, merely a shy and careful declaration of love, but it is one nonetheless.

**Author's Note:**

> Request: A fake boyfriend to real boyfriend fluff and silliness. Should there be some text message based confusion - all the better!!!
> 
> Epic thanks to **Moit** , who was cheerleading until she dropped dead from exhaustion! Without her, this wouldn't have been written, nor would I still be writing at all, I think. (She also made sure, like always, that all characters were returned unharmed.)
> 
> [Feedback is love.]
> 
>  
> 
>    
>  **G*** , I hope this is something you can enjoy! Sorry for not making you blush; I'll do that with the next fic :o)


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